Raring for a Grow-Bag

A violet, self-seeded at the pond's edge. And, below, a snakeshead.

I watched the little wren peck its way across the pavement in front of my kitchen door, then vanish into the thickets of grass around the pond. A moment later, it flew out, trailing a long wisp of dried grass behind it.

Twice I've seen the female blackbird with a beak so stuffed with grass that she seemed to have one of the more flamboyant RAF moustaches. Nesting is definately happening not too far away.

Below, Marmalade and alchemy - the heucharia called 'marmalade' and alchemillia mollis.

I have another heucharia called 'Ginger Ale.' I used to have one called 'Creme Caramel' which I loved but a bad winter killed it.

The fruit trees are all doing well. The crab-apple is weighed down with pink and white buds. At the moment it is wrapped up in fleece to protect them from the sudden cold snap. When the wind blows (which is does quite a bit, up here on the Rowley Hills) the tree mows and gibbers at the top of the garden like a Victorian ghost.

The cherry and the Bardesy apple also have flowers or buds and are also wrapped up. The plum and the two hazels have so far produced nothing but leaves but they seem cheerful.

My windowsill is filled with tomato seedlings. When I look at them I can't help feeling that they are excitedly raring to get outside into a grow-bag. They seem to be waving frondy little leaves in the air.

In the cold greenhouse I have a tray of sunflower seedlings which I hope will grow to ten feet tall. They have big, thick, rounded leaves - right bruisers compared to the tomatoes. I shall plant some in my front garden, to astonish and intimidate the passers-by.

My romanescues are coming through and I'm thinking of planting at least one of them in my front garden too, just for the way they look. I think they're like something from another planet - when, of course, they are just part of the ordinary amazingness of this one.

Fractal romanescue - Jon Sullivan - Wikipedia

 

Hailing Far Spring...

Valentine's Day is when the birds do choose their make.

Right enough, action in the garden is hotting up. 

Here's my garden, in a picture taken last year.


It is so bleak and grey and cold out there at the moment - except for one bright clump of primroses at the end of the pond which have never stopped flowering. But shoots are coming up everywhere: all over the garden and in pots. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to them flowering.

The pond we dug out last January has been wonderfully successful in increasing the number of visiting birds. Before we had zero. Now they come winging in every single day. We have our own little colony of sparrows and before, I never appreciated how acrobatic they are. They hover at the feeders while trying to find a place. They chase each other round them. Today I saw a couple doing loop-the-loops around each other in mid-air. They reguarly come down in a mob to drink at the pool's edge and bathe, even on the coldest day.

We've got used to the fact that the birds resent our presence in the garden. If we linger over tasks, they crowd the trees and yell at us. If we persist, they drop down to slightly nearer branches and yell louder. I've come to recognise the peculiar whistling whoop that starlings make and the craak-craak-craak of magpies. The moment we step back inside the house, they come down to the pond and feeders in flocks before we can pull the door shut.

The magpies swagger about, wearing their gangster black-and-white. Until I saw them close up and so often, I never realised what an iridescent shimmer of petrol blue runs over their black feathers.

The starlings come in gangs of five and seven, with wicked beaks like stilettos, and frantically fight to get into small hanging bird tables and squabble with the sparrows over the spaces on the feeders. Or they plummet down and raid the ground-feeder.

There is a tiny wren that we see more and more often as Spring approaches. It drank from the pond today, a tiny little ball on the edge of a slate. It searched the rose bush above the pond and walks

Wren:  Dibyendu Ash, wikimedia

vertically up walls, investigating the slight crevices between bricks. A couple of days ago it was right by the patio doors, pecking away at something invisible and taking no notice of us. Update: I was turning the compost heap yesterday and a bird above me in the tree was calling out repeatedly in a very loud but melodious voice. Thinking it might be the blackbird, I looked up - and it was the wren. I could see it clearly silhouetted against the sky: a tiny round ball with its tail stuck up at right angles. Its voice is about five times bigger than it is.

Woodpigeons, robins, blackbirds, bluetits and dunnocks visit us reguarly. The bluetit, yesterday, perched on the very highest twig of the leafless lilac and turned this way and that, stretching up onto tip-toe, as he shouted and yelled. Another bluetit came to a lower branch and appeared to listen. They whizz back and forth to the feeders like tiny, bright bits of animated enamel.

And this character (below) has dropped in every day for a week. He has a long spring-loaded tail which you can't see in this photo but which constantly twitches up and down as he hops and pecks about the pond and investigates the ground-feeder.

Grey Wagtail: Wikimedia: Glyn Baker

 Thrilled with so much success, I have plans for next year. I've invested in a silver birch and a holly for my 'wood.' And I'm creating a mini-orchard where my shed used to be. I have a cherry, a bardsey apple and a plum tree, all grown in pots. They have leaf-buds and seem to be doing well. I'm keenly looking forward to seeing how they do.

They will add more leafage, more pollen-producing flowers (never mind the hay-fever) more bark - and therefore more insects. Which in turn will mean more birds and animals that eat insects. I would like to see frogs in my pond. And a newt. I would really love to have a newt.

I planted a St. Swithin rose today, to climb over a fence, both to hide the rather ugly fence and to provide more hiding/living space for birds and insects. I'd like to have a hazel tree in a pot because I love hazelnuts. And strawberries and bilberries. Perhaps a tiny wild flower meadow in a raised bed.
We shall see how much of this comes to - er - fruition.

Winter and Spring

          I seem to be very aware of the seasons this year.

Taken in the Clent Hills, January 2015

Edge of the same path, April 2015

Clent Hill, cold January day, 2015

Clent Hill, hot April day, 2015

A gate, Clent Hill, January 2015

Looking over the same gate, April, 2015 

First bluebells!

Summer is coming.

Blue As Far As The Eye Can See

          It's that time of the year again - though a bit late - when the bluebells burst out mob-handed and yomp all over the Clent Hills with cerulean yells.

           Streams and rivers of blue pour down the hillsides and pool in hollows.
 

          Whole hillsides are covered: sky-blue sunlight, indigo shadow.

          They mark 'undisturbed ancient woodland,' and in a couple of weeks they'll all be gone.

           No photo can give you the gusts of wild hyacinth scent.
          That's why you have to go and join them, and yell blue with them, while they're here.